Within an hour of the great battle, the news of Morgan's confrontation with King Arthur had spread like wildfire throughout the royal capital.
The Red Dragon, known as Britain's mightiest force, and her sister, Morgan le Fay, who was also a 'fae' and held other mysterious titles… Naturally, a clash between the two sisters stirred a massive uproar and frenzy.
"King Arthur versus Morgan le Fay… Sure, they've always had a rocky history in the legends, but I never thought I'd live to witness their actual battle."
In a quiet, secluded alley, a hunched old man leaning on a cane spoke in a low voice.
He was small and sickly pale, his dull eyes devoid of life, like a corpse risen from the depths of hell, exuding an eerie chill.
Zouken Matou.
"Word from the palace says Merlin may have taken Arthur away. Her whereabouts are currently unknown."
Not far from him, a refined-looking man with a trimmed mustache crossed his arms and turned slightly to observe the bustling streets, murmuring, "Britain has changed hands."
"For the foreseeable future, Morgan might be the one ruling the Camelot Empire."
Zouken sneered coldly, a trace of mockery on his lips. "Looks like us transmigrators won't be catching a break anytime soon."
Up until now, rumors from Camelot's court hinted that King Arthur was easing her stance on the transmigrators and even rumored to have held talks with a key figure on their side.
Upon hearing this, many transmigrators had breathed a sigh of relief.
But now… if Morgan truly takes the throne, no one could say what the future might bring.
And given that witch's temperament, it was unlikely to be pleasant for their side.
But, in fact, for a magus, especially one intending to participate in the Holy Grail War, this temporal displacement presented both peril and opportunity.
Morgan le Fay. King Arthur. The Knights of the Round Table. This era was a gathering of legends, each more formidable than the last.
If one could procure a personal artifact from any of these figures before returning to the present age… such a relic might serve as a catalyst to summon them in the Grail War.
Morgan or the King of Knights in particular, obtaining either's relic would drastically improve one's chances of victory.
This thought made Matou Zouken's aged eyes gleam with quiet avarice.
Tohsaka Tokiomi observed the old worm sidelong before withdrawing his gaze.
Although the old bug had rich experience and was an old monster who has lived for hundreds of years, at this moment, he could naturally roughly understand what the other party is thinking.
Not that Tokiomi could judge, after all, he also had the similar ambitions since their arrival, though he'd yet to identify a suitable target.
Until today.
Aftereeting someone today, his goal became clear.
While Morgan and Artoria were undoubtedly prime candidates for summoning (discounting Merlin, who existed beyond the Throne's reach), there was another often-overlooked legend—
The White Dragon, equal in might to the Red.
His chance encounter with Arvin had been fortuitous.
If he could secure a connection to the boy, summoning him in a future Grail War…
"Sir Lancelot has returned!"
At this moment, a shout from the streets snapped both magi to attention.
Through the alley's mouth, they glimpsed a mounted knight in resplendent armor leading a contingent through Camelot's thoroughfare.
Even without emanating pressure, the man's sheer presence commanded awe.
The First Knight of the Round Table.
The very ideal of chivalry.
"I heard that he went out of town to the border some time ago to fight off the invading foreigners. Logically, he shouldn't have come back so soon... It seems that he rushed back specially because he heard the news from the palace?"
"What a pity! It would have been better if Lord Lancelot had returned earlier... Now I don't know if the palace has fallen into Morgan's hands."
There were low whispers among the crowd.
"Lancelot…If he is a heroic spirit, he might be a good choice."
Zouken murmured, hunger flickering across his withered features as he looked at the extremely dazzling figure outside the alley.
However, Lancelot suddenly seemed to sense something and glanced at the alley beside him.
A single glance sent ice flooding through the Matou patriarch's veins. His gnarled fingers trembled against his cane.
Fools might treat Heroic Spirits as mere familiars, but this was no wraith constrained by a Master's will. Here and now, Lancelot du Lac could erase Zouken from existence with a thought.
Yet the knight didn't care about the two.
At this moment, his attention slid past them, fixed solely on the distant palace.
Not long ago reports had reached him—Morgan entering the citadel with Mordred and Gareth in tow, while Arthur and Merlin remained conspicuously absent.
Every second wasted risked catastrophe.
Lancelot exhaled, his grip tightening on the reins. When he raised his head, his gaze had hardened into unshakable resolve.
Whatever madness Morgan planned, he would stop it. Even if it cost him everything.
Sunlight dappled through the palace gardens, painting the cobbled paths in gold and shadow.
Arvin walked beside Morgan, the witch's black lace gown shimmering like liquid night against her skin.
"It feels like an eternity has passed," she mused, fingertips brushing a blooming rose. The quiet nostalgia in her voice almost seemed… human.
Alvin silently looked at the woman walking in front of him.
Even after all this time, her beauty remained staggering.
Although he had always known, she was a beauty, renowned across the empire and even tasted the beauty inside her, everytime Alvin took a look at her, he couldn't help but feel a little mesmerized.
At a glance, she and Artoria might be twins, yet there was a difference in temperament between the two.
Both were cold and aloof, but Morgan
was like a blade sheathed in frost, giving people the feeling of arrogance that keeps people at a distance, while Altria gave people the sense of majesty like an empress.
These sisters were stunning.
He didn't know, which one he liked more, because both were his type..or thet were the type he liked.
Of course, now is not the time to think about these things...
Alvin temporarily set aside his thoughts, opened his mouth slightly, and said, "Morgan…"
However, before he could finish his words, he was interrupted by the woman's soft voice.
"Alvin, I know what you want to say. But for now, I don't want to hear any of it."
She paused, then continued, "Just walk with me a bit longer. It's been a long time since I returned to the royal palace. I just want to feel everything here again."
Alvin fell silent and quietly accompanied Morgan as they strolled through the gardens.
The mingled fragrances of countless flowers filled the air, and the colorful sea of blossoms felt almost dreamlike.
Morgan had always liked flowers.
In fact, both her own chambers and Artoria's were surrounded by gardens just like this.
But after being gone so long, even if her chambers had been kept clean, the flowerbeds had likely withered away.
Alvin was quietly sentimental, but as they wandered deeper into the gardens, he began to notice something faintly off in the air.
His steps slowed slightly.
"What is it?" Morgan asked.
"We should probably head back… Any further and we'll be at Lily's chambers," Alvin said tactfully.
"I know." Morgan smiled sweetly. "That's where we're going—to her chambers. We can rest there for a while."
"…"
Looking at the confused and even stunned expression on the boy's face, Morgan raised the corner of his mouth slightly, revealing a charming arc.
The reason why this woman was called a witch in the past was not only because of her personality, but also because of her appearance.
After a short silence, Alvin could only respond helplessly, "This might cause… unnecessary misunderstandings."
Strolling through the palace with King Arthur's sister, then going to rest in King Arthur's chambers?
No matter how you looked at it, it was a recipe for scandal.
"I know," Morgan repeated, then turned and walked elegantly toward him, her enchanting aura amplified by her soft, full breasts.
Every movement exuded a natural, irresistible allure, like a temptress born to bewitch men.
Under Alvin's stunned gaze, Morgan gently leaned in and brought her soft red lips to his ear, whispering in a voice dripping with seduction:
"Since my dear sister isn't here right now… why don't we have a little affair, Alvin~?"
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.
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